Chapter 65: Chapter 65 - Repent

It had only been three days since the official opening of the new road.

But already, curiosity about Lootwell was spreading like wildfire.

After all, it sat in the farthest eastern corner of the map.

Isolated for so long yet now rising in prominence. Whispers of its sudden growth caught attention from across the region.

And so, many came to see it for themselves.

Merchants from Hornvale and Needlehart arrived, followed by traders from nearby territories.

Some visits were deliberate, others purely coincidental... but all eyes were now on Lootwell.

On Lootwell’s end, each division had eagerly set up their own stalls.

They were especially thrilled to finally trade or sell their surplus crops. The harvest had been so abundant and they simply didn’t know what to do with it all.

The massive crops caught everyone’s attention. Their size and quality intrigued the merchants, who couldn’t stop asking questions.

The Sustenance Division offered not only fresh produce but dairy products from their livestock as well.

Sinep even opened a food stall, showcasing dishes made from their own crops and ingredients.

It was a hit.

Many merchants only made up their minds to buy after tasting the food and once they did, they bought in bulk.

The Crafting Division drew attention with potions, talismans... and uniquely designed clothing, all inspired by ideas Lucien had taught them from his past life.

The talismans were especially popular. As long as one had mana, they could activate them.

Simple.

Useful.

Reliable.

Perfect for merchants on the road.

The Construction Division also joined in, offering statues and figurines crafted from their excess Slime Cement. Some even displayed intricate miniature designs, quickly becoming collector favorites.

Meanwhile, the Spiritual Division set up a small clinic. They remained on standby, ready to assist anyone who needed healing or guidance.

The Administration Division ensured everything ran smoothly.

They handled essential paperwork, kept trade records and were fully prepared to mediate any disputes. Logistics and documentation were all under their capable watch.

And, of course, the Defense Division stood ready for any mishaps. Now rotating in shifts, their visible presence alone was enough to keep order.

Their sharp eyes and professional aura significantly reduced the chances of fraud or conflict.

Of course, not everything was smooth.

There were always a few who thought they were above the rules.

Causing trouble.

Stirring conflict.

Trying to take advantage of others.

But those few were swiftly dealt with.

They were escorted out of the gates without ceremony, blacklisted from ever returning. None of them could even resist Lukas’s grip.

He handled them like disobedient sacks of grain.

Cecil even drew their portraits and posted them along the gate walls with a single word stamped beneath. Blacklisted.

After that, no one dared step out of line.

But on the third day, something unexpected happened.

A group of around twenty people arrived at the gates.

Men and women, young and old. Their clothes were worn from travel, their expressions weighed down with emotion.

Familiar faces.

The two guards stationed at the gate stiffened.

Tom stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Halt. You... You’re not welcome here," he said. His voice was tight with agitation.

"Tom... we’re not here to cause trouble," one man said quietly. His eyes were filled with guilt. "We just wanted to visit. Just for a little while. Then we’ll leave."

The others stood behind him. Heads bowed. Faces sorrowful... haunted by memories and remorse.

Tom hesitated.

His stance faltered for a moment but he clenched his jaw and held firm.

Beside him, Jerry’s eyes narrowed. He stepped back. "Hold them here," he said. "I’ll go report this."

Without another word, he turned and ran... heading straight for the town hall.

Soon, Jerry reached the town hall and there they were.

Sebas stood in quiet conversation with Clara.

"Sir Sebas!" Jerry called out as he approached. He gave a small bow and leaned in, whispering the situation into Sebas’s ear.

Sebas’s expression darkened.

"Let’s go meet them," he said simply.

The miniature Lucien remained perched on his shoulder. Its eyes were closed in silent meditation.

"I’ll come with you," Clara said. A curious smile played on her lips.

When they arrived at the gate, the group of twenty still stood there.

Sebas and Clara paused, listening from a short distance.

"Please, Tom," a young woman pleaded. "I was born behind these walls. My parents are buried here..."

Tom’s expression was hard. He grit his teeth. "Then they stayed... You didn’t."

"We had nothing," another added quietly. "We had to survive..."

Tom’s frustration boiled over. He raised his voice. "So did we! But we stayed. And now... we stand tall!"

The others chimed in.

Trying to explain.

Trying to be heard.

But Tom stood firm.

With a final breath, he said, "Only the Baron can decide if you’re allowed in."

Then he closed his eyes, refusing to argue any further.

Sebas listened quietly. He was torn.

Lucien had already made his stance clear. He didn’t like these people.

Still, Sebas found himself hesitating. Maybe it was worth asking again.

He reached up, about to tap the mini Lucien resting on his shoulder... when Clara stepped forward.

She stared at the group in silence.

Then she gave a small nod. "Hmm... They’re not bad."

A strange smile tugged at her lips... one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She blinked slowly as if a plan had just formed in her mind.

Together with Sebas and Jerry, she approached the group at the gate.

Clara gave them all one more sweeping glance before turning to the guards and then to Sebas.

"May I take care of them?" she asked, voice calm but firm.

Her gaze was steady.

Sebas gave a simple nod. He trusted Clara... she wouldn’t do anything to anger Lucien.

At least... that’s what he told himself.

Clara had always been loyal, just like him. If she took responsibility for them, surely it would be fine.

Then she added, almost too casually, "Also... I’ll need the Lord, please."

Her eyes sparkled. With excitement. And just a hint of madness.

Sebas blinked.

...Or maybe this wasn’t fine after all.

Still... with a quiet sigh, he handed her the miniature Lucien.

Clara received it with both hands. She cradled it gently like a sacred object.

She held him close... almost like hugging a soft doll.

Her expression softened for a moment... before that odd smile returned.

Then... Clara turned to the group and spoke gently.

"Please... come with me."

Without protest, the group of twenty followed her inside the gates. Their heads were bowed in silence.

And as they stepped across the threshold... they felt it.

The air was different here.

It was cleaner... calmer... heavier somehow as if the very atmosphere carried purpose.

They looked around with their eyes wide with disbelief.

The place they once knew was gone.

In its place stood unfamiliar structures.

Taller.

Sturdier.

Alive with life and movement.

Roads were clean.

Stalls were bustling.

And yet... there was harmony.

Clara walked ahead of them with poise. Her steps were light.

The group followed behind.

They had never seen her before yet the way people greeted her with nods of respect and warm smiles made it clear.

She belonged here.

They wanted to ask about her. Who she was and how she came here. But no one dared speak. They already carried enough regret... no one wanted to stir up more resentment.

Then... without breaking stride, Clara suddenly flicked a talisman into the air.

It spun gracefully, catching the light.

A soft hum echoed outward as it glowed.

The group paused to watch, curious.

The sound was soothing. It reverberated gently in their chests.

The talisman floated for a moment longer before slowly descending.

They didn’t know what it meant but it felt important.

Unbeknownst to them, it was a custom-made signal... something Clara had personally requested from the Craftsman Division.

Together, they’d created it as a signal call for the Spiritual Division to gather at the chapel.

And now, the signal had been sent.

As they walked deeper into the territory, Clara suddenly stopped and glanced back at the group.

After a pause, she spoke in a matter-of-fact voice.

"The Lord... hates all of you."

The words dropped like a stone.

Silence followed.

No one responded. They didn’t need to. They knew it already.

They hadn’t come to beg or plead. Only to see one last time... the place where they were born.

But Clara’s voice softened.

"...But I can see you’re not bad people. There is still time. The Lord is forgiving. So... let’s repent now."

None of them understood what that meant.

But the thought of being forgiven... even a chance of it...

It was something they were willing to bet on.

Finally, they arrived at a particular place.

The chapel.

Clara pushed the doors open.

Everything was already prepared inside...

Lit candles.

Fresh cloths.

A serene stillness that blanketed the air.

At the altar, two small creatures sat in still silence... Skittles and Oreo as if guarding something sacred.

"Enter," Clara said gently. "I’ll help you repent."

The group hesitated at the doorway.

But then they saw Clara’s smile.

Warm.

Soft.

Almost maternal.

It disarmed them.

One by one, they stepped inside.

Even if they could never return to this territory... if there was a chance to be forgiven by the Lord then that alone would be enough.

Just as the group stepped inside the chapel, a soft humming filled the air.

It was the Spiritual Division members.

Already in place.

Already singing.

Their voices blended into a gentle and soothing harmony. The sound wrapped around the space like warm silk, setting the tone with quiet reverence.

It was... comforting.

The group glanced around and saw familiar faces among the singers.

Neighbors. Old friends. People they once shared streets and meals with.

When their eyes met, the Spiritual Division members didn’t look away. Instead, they smiled.

Warm.

Kind.

Accepting.

It stirred something inside the group. A flicker of hope.

Clara who was still cradling the mini Lucien in her arms, walked steadily toward the altar.

Clara gently placed mini Lucien between Skittles and Oreo.

Then she pulled out a book.

It was a thick book bound in dark leather. She handled with reverence like it was some kind of bible.

She had asked Cecil to create it.

A record of miracles and phenomena that had occurred under Lucien’s rule.

Illustrated scenes.

Poetic scripture.

Detailed notes... a sacred testament to all Lucien had accomplished.

Clara had commissioned it on his behalf and Cecil had agreed without hesitation... as if it had been his dream all along.

The book was still a work in progress. There was more to come. More still to be written.

Clara opened the book.

She looked down at it with a solemn expression then turned her gaze toward the group.

Clara gently flipped open the book and began to read.

Her voice was soft but clear.

"The Lord does not reject those who bow with open hearts."

She paused, letting the words settle in the air before lifting her gaze to the group.

"This land has changed," she said calmly. "So must you. Speak your truth before the altar."

There was a moment of silence then a voice broke through, trembling but honest.

"We... left when the food ran dry. We feared death. We thought the land was lost."

Others nodded, echoing the same sorrow.

Clara closed her eyes as if to listen not just with her ears but with something deeper.

"You feared," she said at last. "That is human. But fear carves wounds. And wounds must be cleaned... before they can heal."

More voices followed.

Quiet.

Raw.

Full of regret. NovelFire

"We ask for nothing... only to see our home again. Even from afar. We are sorry."

Clara’s expression softened into a gentle smile.

"Then kneel," she said. "Speak the names of what you lost... and what you left behind."

One by one, the group fell to their knees but not in a formal bow. They knelt fully... on all fours as if pressing themselves to the earth.

The humming of the choir shifted.

It was no longer just soothing.

It was haunting, resonant, almost... cult-like?

A soft wind stirred within the chapel. Papers rustled. Robes fluttered. The temperature changed.

Their hearts began to pound. Some from fear. Some from hope.

Clara stepped forward.

"You have spoken," she declared. "Whether the gate opens for you is not mine to say... but the Lord now hears you."

Just then... the mini version of Lucien lit up.

A sudden, oppressive aura surged through the chapel like a tidal wave.

The air turned thick... Too thick for them to breathe properly.

Clara fell to the ground with a soft plop, her knees giving out beneath her.

She clutched her face... Her expression twisted into something between reverence and madness.

"The Lord... has answered..." she whispered, trembling.

Everyone felt it.

The weight.

The gaze.

The pressure.

It wasn’t just magic. It was presence.

Overwhelming.

Sacred...

And terrifying.

Their hearts pounded as one.

A shared instinct overtook them and the group began to chant through trembling voices...

"Please forgive us, Lord..."

The sound multiplied.

More voices joined.

It was no longer a confession... it was worship. Desperate and raw.

And suddenly, it felt too much... like a cult awakening under the eye of a god.

They could feel it.

The Lord was watching.

The aura was crushing yet filled with light.

Then... something shifted.

The miniature Lucien’s glow flickered and then abruptly shut off.

The presence vanished in an instant... as if it panicked.

Clara stayed frozen on the ground, still covering her face... smiling, crying, laughing all at once.

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